When You Wake Up Screaming
by Grevola
Summary: Even the nicest of people suffer from nightmares. Surreal. Quatre centric. Please Review.
1. Disclamer

Ok, I don't think that this belongs with the fic it's self, it seems distracting at the beginning or end of it, so here it is as a separate chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: I have a paperclip. Mike lives there. I have a CD player. Jesse lives there. Mike inspired this one folks, Jesse was listening to Barenakedladies. I also have a computer with Wordpad and a crappy internet connection. Notice that Gundam Wing is not included in this any where. Notice that Quatre is not included in this any where. What is included is the poem/song that goes with this story and the story it's self. Both are copyright G'vola 2002, so no-tuchie. I am open to people borrowing the poem, but pease ask first.  
  
Ok, all done being gloomy and serious. I hope you enjoyed the story, it just sort of... asked to be wrote. 


	2. When You Wake Up Screaming

When you wake up screaming  
  
And you don't understand your fear  
  
And you feel like you're alone  
  
Just know that I am near  
  
Quatre shivered in his sleep, tossing briefly before sitting up with a gasp, the sheet pooling in his lap. Beads of cold sweat rolled down his bare chest and he sucked in long breaths, eyes still dilated from some formless, half-remembered nightmare. His sightless orbs darted around the room, searching for something, but not finding it. After passing a few more moments in the grips of irrational panic he came back to himself, laying quickly back on the bed and gazing up at the irregular texture of the plaster ceiling.  
  
He could see a roughly circular smooth patch, where a crack had been resealed. He searched out other shapes in the miniature boulders of the textured plaster, trying to distract himself from the sleep that threatened to reclaim him. He avoided the sleep with a dogged will power, the taste of fear still lingering in the back of his throat, reminding him that the nightmare was still waiting for him when he closed his eyes.  
  
It's not easy to stand  
  
In the shadows of the moon light  
  
And something hunts you down  
  
From the depths of the night  
  
How often did he feel so terrified upon awaking? He had seen horrors, both physical and mental, that no one should ever have to see. But it was formless, shapeless dreams that shook him to his very core. Even as he tried to think of anything else, he couldn't stop questioning the purpose of the illusions that he experienced.  
  
Restless, but still exhausted he rose from the bed, pulling the sheet around his hips as he walked to the glass doors and looked out, past the thick pressure pains, to the stars that dotted the sky, Ursa major, ursa minor, Orion... He named the constellations in his head, they were not so different from his window as from Earth. The other colonies floated out there too, traveling through the endless night of outer space, free but oh so lonely.  
  
Don't give into the fear  
  
It's something you will never rue  
  
It's something we all must face  
  
And I have faith in you  
  
A knock at the door sounded and he spun, wondering who would approach him in the wee hours of this already depressing morn. "Hello?" He called, his soft whisper seeming too loud in the still air. When he received no further reply, he approached the door, clutching at the sheet like some sort of lifeline.  
  
He stood for a moment, one hand resting on the ornate handle, swallowing deep breaths and gathering his courage before he could open the door the smallest amount. The hall was deserted. Belatedly it occurred to him that the whole wing was probably uninhabited, with the exception of himself.  
  
When you wake up screaming  
  
Don't be commanded by your fear  
  
Just turn and go back to sleep  
  
And know that I am near  
  
He sighed gently, a scant puff of air stirring minuscule currents in the oppressive silence, before turning and laying himself once more on his too large bed. He wrapped the sheet securely around himself, following it with the warm down comforter, he closed his eyes, determined to sleep soundly, despite any dreams he might have had.  
  
Pale lashes brushed over even paler cheeks, his face narrowed with age, the chin stronger then it had been in boyhood. White blond bangs, slightly darkened with the sweat from his previous dreams plastered themselves to his forehead, stirred now and then by his even breaths.  
  
Sleep came quickly to him, as though sensing his surrender. He shifted slightly in his dreams, but did not wake. Nor did his brow wrinkle in distress, rather his counterance showed a sense of peace known only by those having the sweetest of dreams. That night he dreamed he was held in a loving embrace. 


End file.
